


someday

by hurricane_drunk



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, welcome to night vale - novel
Genre: Again, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, but i havent listened to wtnv in years lol, i tried to make the timeline consistant, slight spoilers???, vent fic, venting through fictional characters, wtnv novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:03:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricane_drunk/pseuds/hurricane_drunk
Summary: what if carlos never came back from the desert otherworld?





	someday

**Author's Note:**

> this was extremely self-indulgent, my boyfriend recently cut all contact with me, and we met through wtnv. we always said we were cecil and carlos. im hurting, but this helped somewhat. i dont want any constructive criticism, thank you <3
> 
> (also!! im working on the next chapter of 'last time i checked', i promise it'll be up soon, sorry loves xx)

Cecil stared out of the window in his studio- the weather was playing and his eyes occupied the the pawn shop. He saw Jackie Fiero ring up an item; apparently it was going well, because the customer had just dropped dead. He noticed what was probably Josh Crayton (sitting on Jackie’s shoulder, currently in the form of a bat with a human face), Jackie must be watching him for Diane. The weather was winding to the near end- a jazzy tune about the inevitability of death- so he put his headphones back on. Taking one last deep breath, the vigorous piano dwindled down and Cecil prepared to speak.

The rest of the show went by smoothly- he was only interrupted once by a government-sent child wandering into his studio. It had given its message to one of his coworkers, and was quietly vibrating in the corner. Other than that, he recited the given information like a script. He knew he sounded emotionless, but he _was._ And he refused to lie to his devoted listeners. The show ended, and he gathered his things, and left. The hardest part was passing the door to Station Management (he fainted briefly) but still ended up in his car on his way home. His lyme disease was high functioning at the moment, luckily, so he was able to drive instead of wheel himself or call for a service helicopter.

Arriving to their- his. His apartment. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to that. He paused before unlocking the door. His hands shook as he attempted to fit the key into the slot. Of course, like any sensible person, he had had a bloodstone lock when… more than one person occupied this space. They protected their _home._ But recently he changed it back to a lock and key. He-Carlos no longer had any blood to shed, and bloodstones stopped working if they weren’t used often. Even thinking that name stabbed a pain in his chest. He aimlessly wondered when he would stop shaking so much. It’s been several months since it happened. Sighing, he finished unlocking the knob and stepped into the foyer. He slipped out of his birkenstocks and took off the neon pink and green socks he had been wearing underneath. He hung up his black-purple trench coat and wandered into the kitchen.

… 

The nights were always the hardest. He was forced to confront the empty space next to him in his bed. The first month he hardly had slept, and when he did, it was on the armchair in the living room. He saw Carlos everywhere in their home. When Cecil woke up in the morning, he would see Carlos in their kitchen, making both of them coffee and toast. The radio show host could see his boyfriend’s chocolatey, prematurely graying bedhead, the tanned skin of his calves and arms, the stubble across his jaw, his almond eyes and freckles and his beautiful acne scars and… it was almost like he was alive. But when Cecil blinked, he was gone again. Afterwards, he would sit on the couch and cry. And cry and cry and cry. His tattoos would swirl and vibrate around him, the eyes blinking, the snakes winding around his hands and fingers. The test tube he had gotten from Michelle Nguyen (she added a secret tattoo parlor in the back of Dark Owl Records you could only find by following a trail of clues and riddles, but closed it after her first customer. She thought it was too tacky) never moved. It grounded him, like an anchor.

But after those fits, he was still able to collect himself. He went to work, lulled the city throughout their day, and did the best he could. But at night, he had nowhere to go, nothing to distract himself with. Sure, he could update his blog and write some dracula/nosferatu slash fics, but he’s had barely enough motivation to keep going as it is. He just felt… so hollow. He often found himself contemplating going into the Dog Park. 

In fact, his sister had to stay with him the first week after Carlos was swallowed up by the Desert Otherworld. She had to restrain him from running to the Dog Park, jumping the fence, and going to find Carlos for himself. Often times he passed it to and from work. Once he made the mistake of acknowledging it- he walked up to it and touched its wall- and was promptly knocked out. He woke up in his apartment with a sticky note placed on a blindfold over his eyes; it simply read “NEVER AGAIN.” He was very grateful to the Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency for not killing him or making him disappear like they did with most perpetrators. Since then, he has only spared it a glance, if at all. 

Now, back in the present, he slowly got out of his bed and walked to the window. He saw the familiar surveillance van across the street. He waved to them, and he heard a faint “hello, cecil” from the microphone built into his alarm clock. He smiled. It was nice to remember he would never be alone- even in his own home. Shutting his blinds, he got back in bed. He put in his wireless earbuds, started his “sleep” playlist (which comprised of mostly german death reggae), and shut his eyes. Maybe one day he will be okay again. Maybe. Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry its so short, i just wrote until i felt it was finished. i hope youre all well <3


End file.
